


The Taste In Your Mouth

by Barkour



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick's been waiting seven years to stick his tongue down Wally's throat, but now he's got a plan. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste In Your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/yj_anon_meme/689.html?thread=1105073#t1105073) at [the YJ anon meme](http://community.livejournal.com/yj_anon_meme/689.html), where it was originally posted under the title of "The Way Your Mouth Tastes."

"All right," Wally said, dropping his bag to the floor, "I've got three six packs and a bottle of scotch."

Dick pushed back from his desk. The rolling chair rotated gently to the left beneath him, and he set his foot out to brake. He looked at Wally beaming, disheveled, short red hair artfully spiked and his freckled forearms bared, and Dick crossed his arms over his belly.

"Does your dad know you raided his liquor closet?"

Wally snorted. "I'm twenty-one, ace detective. I can buy whatever I want now." He unzipped the bag and parted it with a flourish. "Ta-da! Oh, and some vodka. I forgot about that."

"Great," Dick said, watching as Wally emptied the bag out with what was for him lingering care. The tips of his fingers blurred. "Just how I always wanted to celebrate your twenty-first birthday: washing your puke out of my trashcan."

"Dude," Wally said. He frowned up at Dick. "It's my birthday. Could you maybe ease off?"

He'd thought his tone joking, the irony clear, but then Wally could hardly know Dick's roommate spent most of his weekends on benders and most of his weeks, too. Wally's fingers had settled around the neck of the bottle of scotch, his thumb caressing the thick throat. Dick dug his toes into the carpet.

"Sorry," he said.

Wally smiled and popped one of the cans of beer free. "No prob, Rob. Catch."

Dick snatched the can neatly from the air. Bud Ice. He weighed the can and his odds.

"When's your roommate coming back?"

Wally bent over his own can. The back of his neck was a deep, golden brown, burnt by sun and long hours in it. The downy hairs there showed a pale blond, like light coming off a brightened bulb. Dick counted six freckles and the side of a mole peeking out from Wally's shirt, on his shoulder. Then the can hissed and Wally straightened.

"He's out of town." Dick slipped his fingernail beneath the tab and popped the beer open. "His girlfriend won a free trip to the Cayman Islands. And why worry about Peterson's economics midterm, which is, by the way, worth twenty percent of your total grade, when you can get drunk on a beach?"

Wally's nose wrinkled. "Are you in Peterson's class?"

"Nope," he said, and Wally laughed, then stooped to lick the carbonated spill-out from the lip of his can. His tongue flashed, pink. Dick felt his belly tighten, and he shoved his own can into his face. The knot in his belly remained.

Dick sipped at the beer and made a face. He hated Budweiser. The skin on his shoulders crawled. Somewhere, Alfred was wringing a towel in his hands, wondering how he'd gone so wrong that Master Richard was drinking at the tender age of eighteen. He could blame Bruce, but Bruce was a teetotaler. He could blame Wally. Dick lowered the can.

Wally stretched out on the floor, cradling the can like a tower rising from his chest. His hands were broad, his knuckles dusted with fine hair as Dick's were bare. A constellation of sun-made freckles spotted his wrists.

Abruptly, Dick said, "Why are you here?" and wished he could swallow his tongue. "I mean. Not that I'm not glad you're here."

"Nice save, _Dick_ ," Wally said, wriggling his shoulders as if he could rearrange the cement underlying the carpet.

This particular Gotham University campus had been a mental institute once, until a fire in the late 50s had gutted it. Arson, set by a cult that wanted to summon an eldritch god from the ruins. That was Gotham's luck. He took another sip of beer.

"It's just." He licked his lips. Wally was looking at him from the floor, Wally with his green eyes and his buzzing mind. "I would have thought you'd want to spend your birthday with your friends. You know, making idiots of yourselves at a bar," he added.

Wally grinned. "Dude. It's Tuesday. I'll party with them on the weekend. And anyway," he said lightly, "I'd rather puke in your roommate's trashcan than in a scummy night club bathroom." He tipped his head. His eyebrows peaked. "You do remember you're my best friend, right?"

Wally's lips were pink, his lower lip damp and shining. Dick licked the corner of his mouth, which was dry.

"Doesn't your metabolism essentially render alcohol ineffective?" Dick asked. "So, really, there isn't any point to this. You aren't going to puke anywhere."

Wally shrugged. "I get a buzz for about a minute. That's pretty cool. Maybe two minutes if the bourbon's any good."

"I'm underage," Dick said.

"You're eighteen," Wally scoffed. "If you're old enough to drive, smoke, and enlist in the army you're old enough to get hammered. And you've been fighting the Joker since you were, like, six. Besides, second fastest man alive, remember? I can get the evidence cleared by the time the RA says, Dick, do you have company?"

Dick set his beer down. He stood, his toes aching, and he walked lightly on the balls of his feet like an acrobat on a tightrope, like Richard of the Flying Graysons, like he was eight and the world was beautiful and everyone he loved he held in his small arms. He knelt beside Wally. Wally's irises, so bright a green, were specked with yellow.

"What," Wally said, "you see something you like?"

Dick curled and pressed his lips to Wally's lips, the side of his nose to the side of Wally's nose. Wally's mouth was warm, his lips dried from running the distance from the University of California to Gotham U, the beer a slickness laid over it. Dick heard his own heart beating, so loud he thought for a moment he might be sick. He cut off the kiss.

Wally blinked once, twice, thrice, again, his eyelashes blurring over his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then his lips pursed and he didn't.

Okay.

Dick sat back.

"If you don't feel the same way, it's fine," he said. His throat hurt, but his face was still. "We can blame it on the beer. I have a low tolerance."

"What, for Bud Ice?" Wally asked. "Nobody has a low tolerance for Bud, not even Barry. And you only had two sips; I counted."

"Wait," said Dick. "You what?"

Wally bolted on: " _And_ I'm almost ninety-seven point eight nine percent certain you arranged your roommate's girlfriend's free trip to the Cayman Islands and if I were any better at hacking I could prove it, _plus_ I know you don't like Budweiser but you still drank it which might be because you didn't want to hurt my feelings but I also brought scotch which you do like in moderation and don't try to front, I saw you schmoozing at that formal thing in Pokolistan, and by the way you still owe me twenty bucks, and also you just _kissed me on the mouth_.

"You're trying to seduce me," he accused Dick.

Dick looked down at Wally, flushed and triumphant, red hair sticking out by his ears. He'd a rough spot on his lower lip, a place where he'd bit it and broken the skin once. He hadn't moved away. Dick's heart stuck in his chest.

"Well, yeah," he said, because he'd never known when not to smart mouth. "But it would be a lot easier if you'd stop talking. You're kind of killing the mood."

"Awesome seduction technique, dude, insult the guy you just kissed on the mouth, that'll definitely make him want to--"

Dick took advantage of that open mouth, the lure that was the suggestion of Wally's tongue, and stooped to kiss him again. Their teeth knocked together and Dick stubbed his tongue on an incisor, and so it wasn't the most gracefully executed French kiss in the history of France, but when Dick slid his tongue down Wally's palate, when he licked Wally's tongue, Wally groaned and surged against him. Dick pulled back.

"Make him want to what?" Dick asked. "Take off his shirt? Take off his pants?"

Wally ran his tongue over his lip. It wasn't deliberate - with Wally, it never was - regardless, heat flared low in Dick's belly, a warmth which rolled down his thighs.

"First date rules apply," Wally said.

"So, that's a yes to taking off your pants," Dick said, and he leaned into Wally, who opened to him.

How long had he wanted Wally? Instead, perhaps: how long had he wanted more of Wally? Dick had been eleven and Wally fourteen, and Dick had felt worldly beside Wally; but then, Dick had been patrolling Gotham for two years and Wally had only just joined the Flash. Wally had slipped that first night they'd met and landed, laughing, on his back, and Dick had looked at him and thought, What an idiot.

Wally hummed; he vibrated against Dick, every inch of him shivering. Dick licked that rough spot on Wally's lower lip. Eleven, and Wally fourteen and laughing on his back. Dick had stretched his hand out and Wally had taken it and stood and said, "I'm Kid Flash, but you can call me Wally."

Dick opened his mouth and dragged at Wally's tongue; he scraped his teeth down and nipped the tip. He rested his hand on the inside of Wally's thigh. Wally made a noise, then his hands were up the front of Dick's t-shirt, around the back, scraping his nipples then massaging the small of Dick's back. His fingernails scratched; his palms smoothed.

Wally kissed like he ran, fast and breathless and slapdash, and his hands were warm, so warm low on Dick's chest, then lower still. His thumb fitted to Dick's belly button. Dick bit at Wally's tongue again, and he fumbled with the row of buttons running down the front of Wally's shirt.

Wally leaned back, then he pressed forward again, dimpling Dick's cheek with kisses. "It's a polo. Pullover."

Dick licked at Wally's teeth, the soft ridges of his palate again. "So pull it over."

"You still owe me twenty bucks," Wally said inanely, then he pulled back again and stripped out of his shirt. His chest drew up, the muscles tightening as he stretched his arms over his head. The hair in his armpits was a golden red, and it matched the hair just peeking from his waistband. Lean muscle rippled in his abdomen, then he cast the shirt aside.

Eleven, Dick remembered, and the Kid Flash costume had clung to Wally as the Robin costume did not cling to Dick. No armor, just cloth against Wally's skin. He'd seen how his shoulders flexed, how the muscles thick at the small of Wally's back bunched as he turned, then Wally had grinned and said, "So what's your name? Or is that some big League secret?"

Dick pulled his own shirt off and returned to Wally. Like clinging to a furnace, albeit a furnace that fluttered against him and made soft noises when Dick pressed nearer.

"You should've said something years ago," Wally said between kisses.

Dick pinched Wally's nipple - brown, not faded pink like Dick's - and Wally gasped.

"You could've said something, too."

"I'm trying this new thing," Wally said. "It's called 'patience.' Hot things come to those who touch themselves."

Like lightning sizzling down his spine. He thought of Wally reaching to adjust himself, of Wally biting his lip (right there, where it healed), of Wally gripping his own cock and coming into his hand, of Wally thinking of Dick. He wanted to push Wally down and suck on his tongue, at his throat, on his--

His thigh fit between Wally's legs, and Wally was hard, his cock straining in his jeans. Dick felt his own erection in the pooling warmth in his belly, the ache between his legs, the roughness of his underwear against his hardened penis.

Wally's mouth was warm and wet, and his breath came quickly. His hands flashed across Dick's back, caressing and pulling and digging into muscle, and his legs tightened around Dick's thigh.

"Come _on_ ," he groaned, "can't you move any _faster_ \--"

"What happened--" Dick mouthed down Wally's throat. "--to patience?" He sucked on the pulse point, flicking his tongue over it.

Wally's hands were a blur running down Dick's sides, sliding down the outside of his thighs then up again inside. His palm pressed against Dick's cock. Batman had taught Dick fourteen different meditation techniques to maintain control of the self at all times, and Dick couldn't remember any of them. He pushed into Wally's hand, the thrumming prison of Wally's fingers.

" _Fuck_ patience," said Wally, then he flipped Dick onto his back.

For a moment Dick's training resurfaced - he thought: blow to throat then kidneys and reassert dominance - but it was only Wally: Wally, who rubbed down Dick's thigh and then groaned deep in his throat, bucked once, and held himself still over Dick. He shuddered and bit his lip.

"Did you just come?" Dick demanded.

Wally flushed. He glanced up at Dick, and his lashes drooped low over his eyes. Dick caught his breath.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, super speedy."

"Yeah, no shit," said Dick.

"I also have an incredibly fast recovery time," Wally snapped. He pressed his palm against Dick's cock again, vengeful.

This wasn't elegant either; it wasn't really even comfortable. But God, the pressure of Wally's hand as he ground his palm against his dick; even the pinch of his jeans almost felt good. Dick arched.

Wally tipped his head and kissed Dick's throat, gently, and said, "You've got a freckle right there," as if it were something amusing. His fingers stroked up, and Dick gasped, bucked up into Wally's hand, and came. He fell back, gasping still for air. His chest burned, his belly, too, and Wally loomed over him.

"Ha!" Wally crowed. "See?" He smiled, but it was too lopsided, too soft to be smug.

Dick wanted to kiss him until he could taste that smile in his mouth. He reached up for Wally and pulled him down. Wally sighed into Dick's mouth and said, "We should probably take our pants off now. I think I'm starting to chafe."

"Nice," Dick said. "That's really helping with the post-coital atmosphere."

Wally paused, pants shucked to his knees. He was half-hard again, his cock slick. Too soon, probably, even considering he was still just eighteen, but Dick felt an answering twitch between his legs.

"Post- _nothing_ ," Wally said. He kicked his pants away. "Unless." He turned, naked, to Dick. "I mean, if you didn't want to--"

"Shut up and undo this button," Dick said.

Wally grinned and scooted over, bending to Dick's crotch. His breath shivered down Dick's belly, and Dick felt another twinge first in his chest, then in his cock as Wally slipped lower between his thighs.

Wally fiddled with the clasp, popping it free. As he pinched the zipper he began to sing, "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me."

"I can't believe I like you," Dick said.

"It's probably the beer," Wally said, then he rose again and kissed Dick in a way that could have been described as languid even if Wally weren't Kid Flash.

The Cayman Islands had been a great idea.


End file.
